As President Harwell picked over his dinner in the residence at six o’clock before returning to the oval office, agent Heath Bishop was searching for something to do in his own apartment. After the long day of Saturday and the taxing session in the situation room that night, there was still the requirement for agent Bishop to file a report and be debriefed as to the emergency evacuation order he had issued in Seattle. Although every one of his superiors believed that his actions had been justified, and had once again verbally praised him for them, those events and how they unfolded needed to be recorded. That entire process, which could not commence until after President Harwell had dismissed him, had taken an additional two hours once he returned to the local field office.

At the completion of those duties, agent Bishop was then notified that he would have the following two days off, and it was not optional. He was in no way being suspended or reprimanded for his actions; it was just felt by his immediate superior that Heath earned what would normally have been granted to him after the President’s trip to the Pacific Northwest. Additionally agent Bishop was informed, at the specific request of President Harwell, that he had been cleared of all other duties until further notice. Therefore come Tuesday morning at eight when he would report to the oval office, his lone responsibility was to be at the beckoned call of the Commander and Chief.

Unfortunately for Heath, Tuesday morning seemed years away. He was never much good at sitting on the sidelines, and felt that he could be of assistance to the President now as opposed to waiting another thirty-eight hours before returning to duty. Due to the benefit derived from several restful hours of sleep and some solid nutrition, agent Bishop was ready to ignore that order and get back to work.

Meanwhile at Fair Park in Dallas Texas, some of the vehicles returning from the two eastern attack sites had reported in. Having been slated with the most direct route back to Dallas, the car from Annapolis carrying the gunshot victim had been the first to arrive. After switching the license plates from Tennessee to those of Texas and departing the roadside rest area west of Memphis by seven thirty in the morning, the car then merged onto interstate-30 in Little Rock Arkansas for the final leg home. By eleven they were crossing the state line north of Texarkana where they could increase speed a little, and three hours later they were in the vast parking area that surrounded the old Cotton Bowl Stadium near the heart of Dallas. Unfortunately by the time of their arrival, the wounded man’s fingers had turned black, and the loss of all feeling had moved to slightly above his elbow. His traveling companions had offered to take him to an emergency room once they had re-entered Texas, but he had refused sighting the need for every member of the jumpers and drivers to report in before individual needs were addressed. Now that said requirement had been personally met, the man was taken to a nearby medical facility which was known to be sympathetic to the cause. Only time would tell if those doctors or others could save his arm.

In the three hours that had elapsed since the triumphant return of that singular vehicle, the question on the mind of those who had escaped with the gunshot victim was if anyone from the New York attack had been injured as well. However when the first few vehicles from that team began to arrive, including the one driven by Ashley Tillman, the likelihood of said fate became less and less possible. What the occupants reported was that no one had been injured during the attack or while in the process of fleeing from West Point, but it was unknown what may have transpired along the journey home. Based on a more northerly and western trajectory across Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois before turning south toward Dallas, those remaining vehicles could have encountered weather issues. The group already safely in Dallas felt completely at ease with their absence however, even though the others were perhaps still a few hours out. It was also well-known that all cars, vans, and suburban’s used for ground support during each prong of the attack had maintained a strict code of cash only purchases for whatever services were needed. Therefore each vehicle and the occupants within had accomplished a vital and most challenging task for anyone to achieve in the modern world. They had all effectively stayed off the grid while leaving no tangible tracking evidence in their wake.

The three black suburban’s coming in from Amarillo and the four vehicles from Annapolis that had escaped south into North Carolina had also arrived. In the case of the latter, once they had made their way from Charlotte across the northern portion of South Carolina and into Atlanta Georgia via interstate-85, they merged onto interstate-20 for the remainder of the journey. That route brought them through Birmingham Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, and Shreveport Louisiana before crossing into Texas.

When rolling through the city of Shreveport, one of the drivers stated, “Well we just crossed over interstate forty-nine. Do you remember when we were on that highway?”

Then the woman in the back seat replied, “Of course I remember. It was on Memorial Day weekend in late May, and we were on our way through this city toward Texarkana driving vans loaded with crates of weapons and ammunition.”

With fond memories of that short but vital mission of nearly six months prior, the car they currently rode in soon crossed into Texas. Less than three hours later they joined many of the others at Fair Park, and within minutes after that, the last of the cars from West Point checked in as well.

Unfortunately several more hours passed before the last of the vehicles from Annapolis reached Dallas. The medical condition of the wounded man in the back seat had continued to worsen, and in spite of numerous stops in western Tennessee and Arkansas in an attempt to keep his fever under control, he had finally lost the battle. The woman tending to his injuries believed that something within him had been punctured via a broken rib suffered during his beating. The resulting internal bleeding coupled with massive dehydration from the feverish sweats and vomiting had probably caused organ failure, and she felt helpless as her limited medical training could provide him with no discernable help. The man was provided with a last comforting thought however, as she woke him and softly said, “Hey, we just crossed the state line into Texas. Hang on just a little bit longer and we can get you to a doctor.”

To which her patient drowsily replied, “Thanks for letting me know that. I wanted to hold on until we got back to the greatest land on earth, but I don’t think a doctor can help me now.”

“Oh don’t be silly. A doctor can have you fixed up before you know it.”

“You’re a sweet and caring woman, and I know you’re only trying to soften the blow, but my time has come. At least I will die in Texas.”

Then looking up she asked the driver and the other two men in the car if they could stop at a hospital in west Texarkana, but it would serve no purpose. Before she could look back down at the face of her patient, she heard a deep exhaling sigh. The man had just released his final breath, and per his most personal desire, had died in Texas.